


Marvel (Female) Reader-Insert Requests

by TheQueenOfSassgard



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Mild) Primal Behavior, Biting (Hard Enough to Draw Blood), Enemies-to-Not-Lovers-But-Fuck-Buddies?, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Jotunn!Loki, Jotunn!Reader, Kissing BC Sweetness, Morning After, Reader-Insert, Student!Reader - Freeform, Tags to be Updated When Neccessary, Teacher AU, Teacher/Student, teacher!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueenOfSassgard/pseuds/TheQueenOfSassgard
Summary: [Requests are currently: Open]Just a collection of one-shots for the characters of Marvel. All of them are reader-inserts, and all (or most) of them are purely requests - so feel free to drop a prompt in the comments whenever you like!(Though I recommend reading the Introduction beforehand, for lists of what I will and won't do. It's not much, but it's easier than getting shot down for something I already said is a no-go, such as rape or cross-overs)(Promise this isn't dead, I'm just Internet-less. But I've already got, like, a dozen new stories lined up - requests included - and I'll have those out before long. Couple more months, maybe. Figured I might as well say it while I had all of a second's time to. Sorry for the inconvenience - it's killing me, too, believe me!)





	1. Introduction

**•  Marvel's "Movie-Verse" (I)  •**

So, I'm sorry to say that this series will not encompass _every_ Marvel character in existence. That would mean _far_ more characters than I, personally, am capable of handling. Instead, you are limited to the "movie-verse" characters.

'Course, the movie-verse isn't _quite_ what you're thinking in this case. In this particular instance, it's a massive category where I've decided to toss every on-screen Marvel production. So, no, it's _not_ the MCU and nothing more.

Of course, the characters of Marvel's Cinematic Universe (the massive ongoing storyline involving the Avengers, Dr. Strange, Black Panther, Ant-Man, Spider-Man: Homecoming, etc.)  are very much useable here. I adore them as much as anyone.

But in addition to the MCU…If you've been keeping up with the newer X-Men movies, I'm also taking those characters into consideration as well. Not just in the new movies, but the originals, too.

And if we're talking about older movies…The original two Fantastic Four movies? Daredevil? Ghost Rider? The other two sets of Spider-Man? If you've got a character from those movies of the past (by past, I mean…no further than 2000), feel free to ask for them, too.

Same applies to all of Wolverine's movies, and, of course, we're definitely not leaving Deadpool out of this. (How could we ever?)

Also, if you're like me and _love_ Netflix, I'm pretty pleased to mention that characters from The Punisher, Iron Fist, Luke Cage, Jessica Stone, and Daredevil also work here. So do characters from the Inhumans, since I've _finally_ gotten around to watching that as well.

However, I am going to have to cut out other Marvel shows and movies that I've yet to watch. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., for example, and a few others. Rather than leave you wondering, though, I took care to mention just about everything that I _have_ seen. (Though I will be working on getting through everything I can before long, so that I'll have more characters to study and open up for use as time goes on.)

Fortunately, you're left with a lot of characters either way. Chances are your favorite will fall into my "movie-verse" category between all of this, and if not…well, maybe one day they will. Still, you've got more at hand than you'd think. (It's actually amazing.)

If you all think it's necessary sometime, I could potentially compile a list of characters worth interest from every movie, Netflix series, and TV show that I've mentioned. It depends on whether or not you all think it might be helpful – so lemme know!

 

**•  Marvel's "Movie-Verse" (II)  •**

This part simply exists to explain something that I feel is sort of important when it comes to some characters. Pay attention. This is going to help you and me _both_ in the end.

I'll get straight to the point. Not every character is the same in every movie. A problem that usually comes hand-in-hand with reboots, or stems from pesky legal problems.

Quicksilver is the _best_ example I can think to offer. If only because both versions came to be in a relatively close timespan, and are both recent enough for us all to be familiar with them. One of those instances where those "pesky legal problems" meant they _couldn't_ be quite the same.

Example A, Pietro Maximoff, isn't a mutant. He's an "enhanced" human being, and his powers are the result of Hydra's experimentation with Loki's scepter – they aren't natural. He's an orphaned citizen of Sokovia, and a member of the Avengers.

(Dead, you say? First I've heard of this – clearly you're delusional.)

Example B _, Peter_ Maximoff, is a natural-born mutant. Also an adorable gremlin that lives in his mother's basement with Ms. Pac-Man. He's the illegitimate son of Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto), and currently a member of the X-Men.

If you asked me for Quicksilver or Pietro Maximoff (Peter's an immediate giveaway, but most people – like myself – still like to use his actual name, so that hint isn't _always_ there), I'd want to know which one you mean. Because you could end up with a story _drastically_ different from what you originally wanted.

He's not the only character this has happened to, either. The latest Deadpool is _very_ different from the one seen in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and they also changed Colossus up in that movie, too. (He was _so_ hot in the older X-Men movies – not that I don’t adore the new Colossus, too, ‘cos he’s adorable.) Angel was also redone (another death we shall never speak of, got it?), along with…okay, a _lot_ of the X-Men cast got to enjoy a little revision here and there.

Point being:

If there's more than one version floating around, make sure you offer some clarity, 'kay? The prompts usually offer a lot of hints even if you don't, but…just a word of advice from me to you. Might wanna be cautious.

 

**•  How to Request  •**

You have two main options here, but we'll see about adding more as time goes on. I will, hopefully, make myself a home on Tumblr soon enough, but for now…

  * Obviously, you may send in your request via comment. I'd prefer if they were all kept nice and tidy under this intro, but I suppose they all reach my inbox the same either way.
  * You can also find me on Twitter, which is more ideal if you're shy about your request and want some secrecy, or if you'd just like to talk your idea out with me instead. Just hit up @CertifiablySmol and I'll keep my DMs open!



 

**•  Main Rules  •**

These are simply a handful of rules that I continuously regard as important. Though some of them aren't _rules_ so much as just…things I feel should be pointed out.

  * The first and foremost rule of all fanfiction: Don't like, don't read!
  * As mentioned, these are Marvel stories. And if you don't know the difference between Marvel and DC, you might be beyond my help. (But, hey, I might write DC one day – we'll see.)
  * These are strictly reader-insert stories.
  * The series is limited to women alone, because I'm a little…terrible at writing from a guy's POV when it comes to reader-inserts.
  * I'll only post your prompt, not your username. You'll be kept as anonymous as possible, depending on how you requested.
  * There's no _real_ limit on how many requests you can make individually, but…try not to go for more than two.
  * Brace yourselves for follow-up questions! Don't drop the "wink wink" hint if you wanna bang a certain character – clarity is key, so straight-up _tell me_ you want smut. If I'm not certain of what you mean and have to ask a question, _please_ find the time to answer, or you'll be waiting all the longer while I try to figure things out.
  * In the summary, there's a bracket stating whether or not requests are open. If they're closed, I'm either on hiatus or working to catch up on current requests. Anything sent in while it says closed will be disregarded.
  * _Try_ not to get demanding or impatient with me – I'm as susceptible to writer's block as anyone else.
  * I _will_ turn down any requests that bother me or aren't something I'd be willing to write, but…I did take care to list details on things I have any trepidation toward down below. The list isn't that big, don't worry.



 

**•  What You _Can_ Ask For  •**

This is basically everything I'm willing to write worth pointing out. It's not as elaborate as, "Yes, you can ask for kissing," because that's more or less a given, yes? These are things that'd usually come up with the, "Is it okay if I ask for _this?_ " question, so I'm putting them out there beforehand.

The list will likely grow as times goes on. I'll try to keep it updated.

  * No, you do _not_ have to be straight. I'm always up to write some lesbian love – especially when the women of Marvel are all so
  * You're not limited to couple pairings only. Want a bigamous or polygamous relationship? Wanna be mistress to your own harem, or a part of someone else's? Go for it!
  * The possibility of being in a bigamous (or polygamous) relationship where the other lovers are intimate as well is also pretty acceptable. (Brought up after a friend mused about fingering herself while watching Bucky and Steve make out – pretty fascinating conversation.)
  * Same applies if the couple is incestuous, since the Maximoff twins were brought up in the same conversation.
  * Smut is completely acceptable, but let me warn you that I am _horribly_ slow writing it. You could be waiting an entire month while I fret over the littlest details.
  * On the topic of smut – BDSM's awesome and I'll write out whatever kink or dynamic you like, so long as it's consenting.
  * I'll wholeheartedly accept suggestions for the creative use of powers, abilities, or physical mutations in either sexual or romantic ways because it's (Pietro would make a good vibrator, don't you think?)
  * Dub-con is fine, but not non-con.
  * Angst is fine – in moderation.
  * Ironically, I'm fine with character deaths. Yours, a lover's, another characters – as long as it's not a suicide, why not?
  * Pregnancy/parenting stories are _very_ amazing, and I can appreciate a family-related fluff-fest once in a while. Ask away if it's your style.
  * Genderbending is _awesome,_ and lemme tell you that I would be the last person in the world to turn away from a female Loki.
  * AUs (not to be mistaken for crossovers) are _totally_ Whether it's a "What If" scenario, a time-skip, ABO-Verse, angels and demons, hybrids, Dom/Sub, or something out of your own imagination, I'm game.
  * Feel free to recommend headcanons to me. If you want me to write something off of one or just incorporate it into the story, I'm all for it.



 

**•  What You _Can't_ Ask For  •**

Here are some things that are outright off the table at _all_ times. No amount of persuasion can change my stance on these, and I'm very, very sorry for that. Some things I simply can't write.

(Like the list above, I'll likely edit this as time goes on to ensure it's always up-to-date.)

  * I will _not_ write out any characters being criticized for their homosexuality or polygamous interests, or race, religion, or basically Let's pretend this all occurs in a perfect world.
  * No excessively depressed or suicidal characters. As I said, angst is fine in moderation, but…some things really kill my mood to write and bring up past demons that I don't wish to deal with. (You all know how it is.)
  * No self-harm.
  * No abusive relationships, even if it could be considered canonic for some not-so-nice characters. Manipulation can be done, but no outright abuse between partners.
  * There are some fetishes I'm not quite for, so I'm just gonna rattle them off real quick: No scat, watersports, bestiality of any sorts, excessive gore, tentacles, age-play, foot fetish, or things that lean toward "not quite sane" territory. (Like, on necrophilia’s level.)
  * No rape, end of story.
  * Underage relationships are fine depending on the age (18 is the legal limit where I live), but I, personally, refuse to write anything involving a character younger than 15.
  * No cross-overs.



 

**•  Personalizing Reader  •**

This means you're free to determine specific aspects of "Reader."

Reader is, of course, a general character that _anyone_ can take the role of, but sometimes it's nice to personalize that character a bit. Add a traumatic backstory. Give 'em a specific job. A power.

Whatever might make the character more fitting for the story, so that you're not reading from a _ghost's_ POV.

Of course, none of this is required. You can easily skip over this entire section and leave me to my own devices with Reader if you want. It's up to you.

  * The number one rule is that we do _not_ assign Reader a name. It's a reader- _insert,_ so all readers should be able to give her whatever name they like. Their own, their OC's, or something off the top of their head.
  * You can determine Reader's age _. However…_ I'll state again that I'm not hesitant toward underage relationships, but the limit is fifteen and no younger. If you've decided to dip below that limit, do not ask to be shipped with anyone any more than two years older than your choice.
  * Species is something you can choose for yourself. Asgardian, Jotun, human, mutant, or some miscellaneous alien race – whatever you prefer out of those and other options presented by Marvel.
  * If you want a mutant Reader, you're welcome to decide her mutation.
  * Same applies if you want a superhero (or villain) character.
  * I am _begging_ of you, though. I don't even like _canonically_ over-powered characters, so please, please have mercy and don't ask me to write a character that could destroy the universe with a flick of her wrist.
  * If you're up to the effort, you _can_ design Reader's personality. Someone headstrong and fierce, meek and shy, crass and volatile, or kind-hearted and gentle. Whatever suits your idea best.
  * You can also, of course, choose her place in the world of Marvel. A Stark employee, small-town hero, Asgardian warrior, Hydra agent, nobility from another world, or even a grocery-store clerk if it works for you. Marvel's honestly got _endless_



 

**•  Organization  •**

So, I _do_ have a system for how I organize my chapters, because I know how irritating it is to root through every single one looking for a specific story you'd like.

In chapter titles, the pairing will be put in brackets, with the character’s name _and_ their hero/villain persona (if they have one). So each title will look something like this:

**Chapter 6: ______ [Bruce Banner/Hulk • Reader]**

(I am Captain of the Bruce Banner/Hulk Appreciation Committee.)

Make sense?

After that's helped you decide what chapters you want to read, then you're free to start digging for something of interest. To make it easier, I almost always post a summary of what the chapter is about. From there, I also post bonus details in bold at the beginning of every chapter.

Serving as a made-up example:

 **Prompt:** [Insert spontaneous reader-given prompt here.]

**Relationship: Bruce Banner/Hulk • Reader**

**Rating: TEEN for a very upfront Reader (because Bruce can't make the first move to save his life), some tentative flirting on Bruce's part, some _intense_ flirting on Reader's part, and a kiss that involved more tongue than Bruce was prepared for – not that he's complaining.**

**Word Count: 1304**

Hopefully my system proves useful!

 

**•  Ratings  •**

Now, the series itself will _probably_ come to be rated "explicit" before long, because I don't doubt that explicit material will show up sooner or later.

However, that doesn't mean that _every_ chapter will be like that. Pay attention to the "rating" listed at the beginning of each chapter to see that story's individual rating. They system more or less works like this:

 **General Audiences Rating =** Used for lighter, fluffier, up-beat content with no swearing or smutty content.

 **Teen Rating =** Usually used if there is kissing, referenced sexual material, dirty talk, mild language, light violence, et cetera.

 **Mature Rating =** Used if the story is a build-up to smut with foreplay, stronger dirty talk, stronger language, more violence, gore, or if my jokes get out of hand and become darker.

 **Explicit Rating =** Reserved only for written-out smut or especially gory, torturous, violent and dark material.

 

Have fun coming up with your requests. Give me whatever you like and I’ll do my very best to create something worthwhile from your ideas. ♥ 

 

 

 


	2. Late Nights [Clint Barton/Hawkeye • Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s not cheating on you, that’s for sure, but sometimes those nights where Clint doesn’t come home until late…They really make you wonder.

**Prompt:** [No prompt – late night writing and no more.]

 **Relationship: Clint Barton/Hawkeye •** **Reader**

**Rating: GENERAL AUDIENCES for nothing more than a few exchanged kisses and some relatively quiet, uneventful material. (Not much excitement here – whoops.)**

**Word Count: 1433**

* * *

**Chapter One: Late Nights**

_Reader_

_He wouldn’t cheat on me, would he?_ You mused silently, gazing up at your bedroom ceiling drowsily.

No, not Clint. You knew that the moment the idea entered your mind. Clint wasn’t perfect by any means, but he was a good guy. He was dedicated. He wouldn’t run off with some other woman behind your back – he didn’t have it in him. Not that you were complaining.

Still…

 _This is the sixth time this month,_ you reminded yourself wearily.

The sixth time that he hadn’t come home before midnight, like he usually would. You could understand that sometimes his job meant overtime (he had a boss that rode him pretty hard, he’d explained to you one day), but he should’ve left by eleven. He should’ve gotten back to your apartment before midnight, right on time to crawl under the sheets with you and offer some late-night cuddling. Maybe something more.

You wanted to believe you were paranoid. Because Clint had been like this from the very beginning. Late nights working, early mornings going in, long business trips out of town. He’d always been busy with his job, so why should it start getting to you _now?_

It was stupid, you told yourself.

You rolled over and buried your face in a pillow, willing the thoughts away. It was getting closer and closer to one AM, and you had a job of your own that you’d have to get to in the morning. Sleep was important. Worrying about Clint could come later.

Trust him to have the best and _worst_ timing ever.

The sound of your apartment door opening made you lift your head from the pillows. Then there was the sound of Clint kicking his boots off (always so heavy-duty, you’d noted, not something that looked like it’d belong in an office), footsteps across the living room, down the hall. Another door opening and closing. Then the shower turning on.

There was another thing he did that stuck out. Whenever he came home late, he always took a shower before coming to the bedroom. Not something you really believed was all that significant, but it _was_ an interesting part of the trend.

 _Bet he’s just making sure you can’t smell her perfume on his skin,_ some dark, cruel part of your mind whispered.

You shoved the thought down irritably. You were too sleepy for that bullshit. As much as your mind goaded and taunted, you knew Clint simply wasn’t a two-timer.

You rolled over to face the ceiling again, stretching out with a sigh. You weren’t going to bed now, not when he was finally back. You wanted to snuggle up to him, ask him about work, sneak in a few kisses before going to bed. Exhausted as he usually was when he came home, it was rare enough for you to get that much even on a good night.

Your luck, loving a man that sometimes acted like he loved work more than you.

Not that that was the case, of course. Obviously.

It was about ten minutes later when your bedroom door opened, and you could make out Clint’s silhouette in the darkness. Hair ruffled from the shower, pajama bottoms hanging loosely around his hips. He always looked cute in that disheveled, worn-out way when he came in like that. You couldn’t resist a faint, sleepy smile at the sight.

“You’re still up?” he asked, nudging the door shut behind himself.

“Couldn’t sleep that well without you,” you confessed.

The bed dipped under his weight, and you sighed contentedly when he settled down next to you, slinging around your waist. His lips were warm when he kissed your cheek, and you made yourself comfortable by nestling into his chest.

“How’d work go?” you asked.

Clint flashed a wry smile. “Eventful, but exhausting.”

“Seems like it always is,” you noted, your gaze briefly wandering over the digital clock on your nightstand. “You were out pretty late again last night, too.”

“Had a special project to wrap up,” he said, kissing your jawline.

A _way_ too familiar phrase. It was the same answer he always gave you whenever you mentioned the time. He’d been dealing with some sort of project or assignment. Something that couldn’t have waited any longer, unless he wanted to deal with his boss’s wrath.

You’d really have to have a talk with this boss of his sometime. The man was stealing away far too much of your boyfriend time.

You sighed heavily, shifting your weight so that you were lying on top of Clint, straddling his hips and draping yourself over his chest. Honestly one of your favorite positions for cuddling, but in this case it was so you could stare him down directly. “Are you ever gonna tell me what those projects _are?”_ you asked, lifting a brow.

He smiled. “It’s confidential.”

“Uh-huh…”

He dismissed the smile a moment later, kissing your forehead almost apologetically. “I’d tell you if I could,” he murmured.

Another familiar phrase. Clint had never specifically _told_ you where he worked, or what he did. He’d given you the vague answer of “problem solver” once, and that had been it. Apparently, the entire ordeal was something _constantly_ shrouded in secrecy – or maybe it was just too embarrassing.

Huh, maybe he worked at the strip club down the street and was too ashamed to tell you. No, no, that was silly. An interesting idea (very interesting), but not likely.

Even if Clint _was_ incredibly flexible, and probably could work himself around a pole with all the ease of an exotic dancer –

 _Stop that,_ you told yourself sternly.

It was too late for you to be awake. Especially if you were starting to have erotic fantasies about your boyfriend being a stripper.

You shook your head and drew yourself up with a slight pout. “You’re never going to tell me about your work? Y’know, we’ve been together for almost a year now – I feel like I’m allowed to know a little by now.”

“It’d scare you.”

Alright, scratch the stripper idea. Maybe he was in a street gang. Or a mob. He was a hitman, totally a hitman.

Which should _not_ have sounded nearly as appealing as it did.

“Try me,” you countered.

Clint lifted a brow, then propped himself up on the palm of one hand. “Alright, you _really_ wanna know?” he asked.

You nodded.

He paused, pursed his lips, then curled a finger. You leaned in obediently, and shivered when his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear.

“I’m actually a super-secret spy-slash-assassin for an even more secretive agency,” he whispered into your ear.

You paused briefly, then sat upright and smacked his chest lightly with a short laugh. “Clint!” you complained. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s the truth,” he said, a slight grin making its way over his lips.

You huffed, then shook your head. “Must think awful highly of yourself, then,” you said, amused. “You’re no James Bond, though, sweetheart.”

“You’re right. I’m better.”

You giggled again, then sighed and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. “Yeah, you are,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Alright, I give up this round. Just try to hold off the late nights, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, nuzzling the side of your neck.

“Thank you,” you said, stealing another kiss from him.

 

_Reader_

Come the next morning, you were savoring the warmth of a hot shower before work – the perfect thing to help you wake up. The water caressing each part of your body and coaxing away every ache you had, making you feel delightfully relaxed and prepared for a hard day. Just another part of your morning ritual, until you caught the sight of something smeared against the bottom of the shower wall, a vague reddish thing, almost entirely rinsed off by the water splashing on it.

 _Blood?_ You thought quizzically.

…Maybe you should revisit that idea about Clint being a hitman. If he were a killer and wasn’t telling you, that’d explain the showers before he came to bed. What if he was washing off the blood of his kill?

You considered it carefully for a moment, then shook your head. Nah. Clint wasn’t a killer. Right?

You frowned and rubbed away what little red was left on the wall, then turned off the shower. Your imagination was getting _way_ too out of hand lately. You were going to blame all the Netflix binges – you’d clearly been getting too wrapped up in action films and fantasy series’. Next, you’d convince yourself he was a vampire.

* * *

 **A/N:** In case you don’t get the joke there – Clint is an assassin. Those late nights are SHIELD assignments. The boss mentioned is Director Fury. He really is coming home with a little blood on him here and there. (Little. Please, children, he’s a professional.) Reader’s just totally oblivious.

To be honest, this was part of a writing exercise to help break writer’s block. Something I picked up from another friend – you just force the writing whatever comes to mind as a way of telling the block to go f*ck itself. Surprisingly useful.

I dunno. The results of those exercises might not always be the best, but they put me more at ease when tackling ideas that I want to make into something _really_ good.  

 

 **Disclaimer:** I have no ownership of anything Marvel-related here, nor do I own you! The plot, however,  _is_ mine - and that's just about it.

**Comments and kudos are every writer's crack, and I'd love either! Want to toss me a prompt? Feel free to do so in a comment, or via Twitter (@CertifiablySmol) through a DM. (I recommend reading the Introduction beforehand for notes on what I will or won't write - thanks!)**


	3. Before I Go [Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch • Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before she runs off to get herself into trouble of the international kind, Wanda asks Clint to make one more stop. She’s not going to go anywhere without saying goodbye.
> 
> (Note: Told entirely from Wanda’s POV, because I can. Oh, and – Pietro’s alive ‘cos no-body does denial better than me.)

**Prompt:** [No prompt – Wanda just needs to be loved and I was bored.]

**Relationship: Wanda Maximoff** **• Reader**

**Rating: TEEN for Wanda angst, but Reader’s legit the best girlfriend ever ‘cos Wanda needs comfort and she is there to give all the comfort in the _world._**

**Word Count: 1197**

* * *

 

**Chapter Two: Before I Go**

_Wanda Maximoff_

_I want to make one more stop before we go,_ Wanda had said. _Please._

She’d been quiet from the moment she and Pietro had left with Clint, passing her solemn silence off as attentiveness to everything Clint explained to them during the drive. Her request had come out of the blue, but neither of her companions seemed startled by it.

If anything, Pietro had been _expecting_ it. He knew all about you – he’d been there to watch and offer his support as Wanda slowly found herself falling in love.

Clint, meanwhile, had only been around to enough to hear about you in bits and pieces. However, he could read people easily enough to understand the adoration Wanda had toward you. Better yet, he knew what it was to run head-first into danger, and he was familiar with that urge to be able to spend just _one more second_ with loved ones beforehand.

She could count of them to not turn her down.

They’d settled on a deal. Clint had someone else to pick up for Steve. He’d leave Wanda behind while he and Pietro did that, and then they’d come back for her afterwards.

As soon as she was standing at your doorstep, though, Wanda felt the nervousness kick in. It seemed like a terrible idea. What if you tried to talk her out of this? What if you were so angry with her for it? What if she saw you and couldn’t stand to lose someone so dear to her, and just backed out?

Doubt had always been one of Wanda’s greatest enemies, but she could never seem to fend it off for long. At that moment, it seemed to suffocate her.

A million thoughts ran through her head as she lifted her hand to knock on the door. All sorts of terrible possibilities. So many things could go wrong, and she was painfully aware of it. She played out scenario after scenario, until the door opened and you stood in front of her.

Then the door opened and her mind went completely blank. When you smiled, everything bad in the world ceased to exist.

“Wanda!” you exclaimed, moving forward to draw her into a hug. “Where have you _been?_ You haven’t visited me in so long!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled into your shoulder.

_Tony wouldn’t let me leave the facility. Twelve people are dead because of me. The world thinks I’m a monster for it. I was a catalyst for tearing the team in half. Everything’s falling apart._

She hugging you back – tightly. Silently, she pleaded with you to not let go. Being held by you seemed to be the only thing keeping her together, and she was desperate to cling to that feeling. That small, blissful delusion that _everything is okay._

When you pulled away, she nearly cried for you to come back.

Instead, she forced a smile and let you tug her inside. Where it was warm and safe. Like some sanctuary where nothing in the world could touch her.

“How have you been?” you asked, kissing her cheek.

“Better,” she said.

It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Any chance you’re going to give me a response with more than one word?” you asked, lifting a brow.

Wanda’s smile weakened. “Sorry. It’s just been…a long few days. I’m tired.”

So, _so_ tired.

“No surprised,” you murmured, voice suddenly sympathetic. “I’m sorry about what happened in Wakanda. You know that wasn’t your fault, though, right?”

“I’ve been told,” she said softly.

You took her hand in yours, lacing your fingers together and giving a gentle squeeze. She let you lead her into the living room, then down onto the couch and into a loving embrace. You were holding her again. Holding her together. Offering her a  sense of bliss that was so painfully _rare_ for her.

“Something’s wrong,” you murmured, your fingers stroking through her hair.

“No, it’s not,” she lied.

 _Everything is wrong,_ she wailed mentally.

You withdrew, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Is it one of those super-secret Avengers things?” you asked quietly.

She managed another smile. “Yeah.”

“A mission?”

“Sort of.”

“No straight answers, huh?” you guessed.

Wanda shook her head reluctantly. Normally, she would’ve loved to spill every detail to you, so that you could reassure her that everything would be fine. It’d been one of Clint’s rules, though. You’d be better off out of the loop.

“When are you leaving this time around?” you asked, your thumb stroking the back of her hand gently.

“Soon,” she managed. “Clint and Pietro are – are getting something. They’ll come for me afterwards.”

You nodded in understanding, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. One of those soft, sweet, “I’m here for you,” kisses that always stole her breath away. Even the most heated moments of passion could never really compare to the littler, sweeter things when it came to you.

She could feel her heart swelling with anguish. She didn’t want to leave you behind. She didn’t want to take any risks that might meant never having you again.

You were perfect. You were pure. You were like Pietro, Steve, Clint – one of so few people who didn’t fear her, or hate her, and only ever offered kindness and compassion until she actually, truly believed she wasn’t the monster the media said she was.

She wanted to sob. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you mumbled, your thumb stroking over her cheekbone. “Wanda, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” she managed.

“You don’t have to go on that mission if it’s upsetting you this much,” you whispered. “You know they wouldn’t make you.”

Wanda shook her head. “No, I have to,” she managed. “I need to.”

“It’s personal?” you guessed.

“It’s personal,” she confirmed, softly.

“You’re not a monster, sweetheart.”

“I know I’m not,” she murmured.

Because if you said so, then it had to be the truth. You didn’t lie. You never did.

“But not everyone else agrees,” she continued.

“People have a hard time understanding sometimes,” you murmured. “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard the Hulk called a monster, even after everything _he_ did as one of the Avengers. Some people are just afraid. They want to be saved, they want to be helped, but…if they can’t understand or control what’s doing it, it makes them panic.”

You smiled, leaning forward to kiss her forehead again. Warmth spread through Wanda’s entire body from that one, singular point.

“You’re a hero. And they’ll see it soon enough,” you whispered reassuringly.

Wanda nodded. She _could_ understand, but…sometimes the wait was frustrating. She _could’ve_ been a monster. She _had_ been one with Hydra, but…she was trying so hard now. A little bit of acceptance – it was all she wanted.

She sighed heavily. “Thank you,” she murmured, resting her forehead against your shoulder. “I just wanted to talk to you one more time, before I go.”

“I’m here anytime you want me, sweetheart,” you said softly.

Wanda smiled tiredly. “Thank you for that.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

“ _I love you,_ ” Wanda murmured in soft Sokovian.

“I love you, too,” you said gently.

* * *

 

 **A/N:** Yeah, it was late when I wrote this. Hence why there isn’t much to it, like, at all. But Wanda needs to be loved and protected forever, I swear. I put her in the same boat as Bruce – the “Too Precious for Any of the Shit They Go Through,” boat. Along with Tony. And Loki. And Steve. And Thor. And Natasha. And Clint. Oh, and Bucky. And basically - literally everyone, I guess.

Oh, and – Pietro being alive is literally a permanent thing here. We don’t talk about that. Like, I won’t even _watch_ AoU up to that point. I stop in the middle of the fight and go, “And then they saved everyone, no one died, and everyone lived happily ever after.”

Okay, not _really,_ but – I refuse to accept that. He. Is. Too. Good. For. That. And so is Wanda!

 

 **Disclaimer:** I have no ownership of anything Marvel-related here, nor do I own you! The plot, however, _is_ mine - and that's just about it.

**Comments and kudos are every writer's crack, and I'd love either! Want to toss me a prompt? Feel free to do so in a comment, or via Twitter (@CertifiablySmol) through a DM. (I recommend reading the Introduction beforehand for notes on what I will or won't write - thanks!)**

 


	4. Hot For Teacher [Tony Stark/Iron Man • Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s all kinds of ‘not okay’ to be screwing your robotics teacher, but sometimes it really, really can’t be helped. (Alright, it can, but – why bother?)
> 
> (Note: Trigger warning for a student/teacher relationship. Just a heads-up.)

**Prompt** : [No prompt.]

**Relationship: Tony Stark • Reader**

**Rating: TEEN, if only for the fact that it’s a student/teacher relationship. There’s not much harmful material here, and the naughtiest thing you’ll see is a kiss.**

**Word Count: 1622**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Hot for Teacher**

_Reader_

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You lowered your gaze from the screen in front of you, rubbing at your sore, dry eyes with the heels of your hands. It _hurt_ , staring at a screen for so many hours at a time. You were overdue for a break. Hell, you were overdue for _sleep_ , but, as Mr. Stark would say: Sleep is for the weak.

Plus, it wasn’t really a luxury you could afford at the moment. Not when your project was due in exactly…

You glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was currently four AM. School would start at eight AM, and you would have to be in Mr. Stark’s class by ten.

 _Six hours,_ you told yourself.

Yeah, there was no way you could finish the rest of your coding work by then. Especially not when you were so tired that you could scarcely even see the screen in front of you. You had too much work left to do, and not nearly enough time. It was your fault for aiming so high when you only had a limited amount of time to work, but…damn.

You tilted your head back with a defeated sigh. Might as well give up now and set your sights on a more reasonable goal next time around. Mr. Stark would understand.

He’d still give you a zero, yeah, but he’d totally get it.

You paused, your gaze sweeping the lab. Where was Mr. Stark, anyways? You hadn’t even noticed him leaving the lab, you’d been so engrossed in your work.

You shoved your desk chair back, standing up to cross the lab. “Mr. Stark?”

You could still remember the first time you’d been invited down here – a little while after your taboo relationship with him had begun. You could’ve fawned over his car collection, you could’ve fainted over how damn _expensive_ and _shiny_ everything was (how the man afforded any of it on a teacher’s salary was still a mystery to you), but, no. It’d been all the tech that had really made you swoon, and you hadn’t missed the fond smile Mr. Stark wore while you fangirled over every bit of it.

He got you. It was one of the things that made him so damn irresistible – to hell with the rules. Not enough people really understood your geekier interests, not like he did.

“JARVIS?” you called out finally, looking up at the ceiling. “Where’d Mr. Stark go?”

_“You’ll find him in the kitchen. He’s preparing more coffee. Would you like for me to tell him you’re on your way?”_

“Please,” you said, heading for the doors and the stairs behind them. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

There was another thing about Mr. Stark that made you want to absolutely lose it. His own AI, created by himself and far better than Siri, Alexa, or anything else out there. Honestly, sometimes you wanted to marry the man’s brain – or maybe just go ahead and marry him as a whole.

…Nah.

The current arrangement was already good enough for you.

You padded up into the hallway, then made your way into the kitchen. Tony, as promised, was in the kitchen and idly monitoring the coffeemaker. Not particularly patiently, either. He was tapping the heel of his foot against the floor irritably. When it came to an all-nighter, Tony didn’t like to waste a second of the time that he could actually manage to stay awake for. He had all the drive of a student cramming the night before midterms.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” you hummed, lifting yourself up to sit against the marble countertop.

He didn’t even glance at you, still squinting at the coffeemaker like he was staring it down. “You,” he noted. “Are supposed to be writing code right now.”

“Too much to do, too little time,” you said with a weak smile. “Might as well go ahead and give me the zero. There’s no way I can finish.”

Tony looked over at you then, lifting a brow and looking _terribly_ unimpressed. You shrugged in response.

“I’ll make it up another time,” you promised. “I’ll even take on some extra credit.”

“You’re supposed to be one of my best,” he chastised absently.

“I am. Which is why I _should_ be allowed to fail one assignment. Considering that I’ve done perfectly on all others.”

“Y’know, as your teacher I should probably tell you to keep trying and say I have faith in you, but – coming from someone else that’s been working all weekend, I have enough sympathy to be merciful,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

He sighed, sliding a mug toward you across the countertop. You accepted gratefully, taking a sip of the cappuccino with a soft sight of contentment. Even if caffeine might not even be enough to have you properly awake again, not this late. Still, the thought was appreciated, and it tasted delicious either way.

“So, do I dare hope we can say it’s bedtime by now?” you asked.

“For you, maybe, but I’ve got some other things I want to wrap up,” he said, almost dejectedly. “I’ll be awake.”

“A break wouldn’t kill you,” you pointed out.

“No, but it would be time wasted. Which is even worse.”

You smiled in faint amusement, taking a sip from the mug in your hands. He was a stubborn insomniac, you were certain of it. But even if he wasn’t exhausted when you were, you weren’t yet used to sleeping alone whenever you visited.

“You sure?” you asked, peeking over the rim of your mug at him. “’Cos I might make coming to bed worth your while.”

“ _That_ doesn’t sound suggestive at all,” he mused sarcastically.

“Well, if you’re _really_ not interested – ”

“I didn’t say that,” he interrupted quickly. “I didn’t say that at all.”

Your smile grew a little broader as his gaze turned toward you. You were winning, and you knew it.  So did he.

“Well, Mr. Stark,” you began again. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you join me?”

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep.”

Still, Tony’s gaze didn’t stray from you. It was like he’d lost complete interest in his coffee from the moment he thought sex might be involved.

“I might be willing to put it off for a bit longer,” you hummed. “At least until the sun starts coming up.”

Which was a good couple of hours from now, and you knew he knew it. Even exhausted as you were, you could put sleep off for a while longer if you _really_ wanted to. Seducing your teacher seemed like a good reason to stay awake, anyways.

You slid down from the countertop, setting your mug aside slipping up behind him with a hum. You leaned against his back, fatigue briefly making you want to fall asleep against him then and there. But you brushed it aside, pressing a short trail of kisses from the spot below his ear, to the base of his neck.

You didn’t miss the small shiver that rippled through his body.

“You gonna tag along, Mr. Stark?” you asked softly.

“I’ve told you before that ‘Tony’ works outside of the classroom.”

And inside the classroom. But referring to a teacher by their first name was a bit more than most students could handle. And, personally, the whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing was pretty hot in your opinion.

“Mr. Stark sounds better,” you murmured. “Sexier.”

Tony considered that quietly, then, to your delight, switched the coffeemaker off and turned to face you instead. Calloused hands came up to cup the sides of your neck, and you stretched up on your toes to meet him halfway when he dipped down to kiss you.

You reached up, fingers wrapping around his wrists. “Bed,” you murmured against his lips. “’Cos I’m going to fall asleep immediately afterwards, and the kitchen might not be the best place for that.”

He chuckled softly against your mouth. “Good point. Bed it is.”

 

_Reader_

It was about seven in the morning when JARVIS chimed in with the announcement that you two should probably wake up. You were a bit annoyed that he’d roused you from sleep at all, and were anything but willing to get out of bed. Regardless, you still managed to open your eyes and regain some bit of conscious awareness.

Tony had fallen asleep stretched out on his back, and you were draped haphazardly across his chest. Warm and comfortable, body delightfully heavy with fatigue. Honestly, if you didn’t have to go to school (and how laughable that thought was) and could’ve gotten a few more hours of sleep in, it might’ve been a perfect morning after.

“Mr. Stark,” you managed, prodding at him drowsily. “School. You’ve got to get to work. I have class.”

He groaned, brows knitting together in annoyance. “Too tired.”

You snorted, resting your head against his chest. He had a good point, though. You were worn out, too. You’d spent your entire weekend awake with him, working down in his lab. Waking up early on a Monday just…wasn’t happening.

“Tell you what,” you yawned. “Call in sick, and I’ll skip. We can stay home together.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

“I’ll forge a note.”

“Then you’ll get in even _more_ trouble.”

“And that’s why I won’t get caught,” you reminded him, eyes drifting shut. “No problem as long as no one finds out, right?”

“…Good argument. Staying in it is,” Tony mumbled. “JARVIS? Call Principal Fury, tell him I’m not feeling well today.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder. “Night, Mr. Stark.”

He rested a hand between your shoulder blades, rubbing the bared skin absently. “Morning, actually. But goodnight to you, too, kiddo.”

* * *

 **A/N:** I dunno, I really love writing these drabble-y ‘fics? I wanted to write smut originally, but I haven’t been able to write any decent sexy stuff in – uhmmmm…a while, actually.

I’d originally wanted to write a full-scale Avengers & Co. as teachers x Reader story once upon a time. Hence the mentioned Principal Fury. I had the entire thing planned out. Sadly, I never do have the time to dedicate myself to an actual chapter-by-chapter story nowadays. Just a lot of short little one-shots. Such is my life – sigh.

Side note – teacher AUs are my _favorite_. If y’all ever wants those – I’m the girl to hit up. Just sayin’. I am so weak for them.

 

 **Disclaimer:** I have no ownership of anything Marvel-related here, nor do I own you! The plot, however, is mine - and that's just about it.

**Comments and kudos are my weakness, and I'd be grateful for the feedback!**

**Want to toss me a prompt? Feel free to do so in a comment, or via Twitter (@CertifiablySmol) through a DM. (I recommend reading the Introduction beforehand for notes on what I will or won't write - thanks!)**


	5. (Excerpt) Exceptions Can Be Made [Loki Odinson • Reader]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every so often, Laufey will be invited to Asgard for the sake of reviewing the terms of his treaty with Odin. This time around, you’ve been taken along as a member of your king’s personal guard. Unfortunately, curiosity’s gotten the better of you, and something about Odin’s second son has caught your interest. 
> 
> (Note: There’s an AU at play here. Jotunheim isn’t quite on, “We’ll murder you if we get the chance,” terms with Asgard, and, while they aren’t the friendliest, they are actually capable of acting civilized with one another. 
> 
> On top of that, Loki’s aware of his species, but not of his true parentage. The rest falls into place as you read, though, I believe.)
> 
> (Side Note: This is an excerpt! Not the full story! It was getting really lengthy - too lengthy to be done on time, and I was really, really eager to post it, so . . . I cut out a little snippet to post until next weekend, when it's completely done. It's also unedited, so - forgive any typos or mistakes!)

**Prompt:** [No prompt – sudden late-night inspiration, that’s all.]

**Relationship: Loki Laufeyson • Reader**

**Rating: MATURE for language and violent content - though this rating will change to "Explicit" once I've posted the entire story. For now, watch out those two things alone, really. Language, violence (bloody violence), and some sexual references here and there. Reader's a sucker for pain - and so is Loki.**

**Word Count: 9660**

* * *

 

**Chapter Four: Exceptions Can Be Made**

_Reader_

Despite Laufey’s orders, you had little interest in remaining in your quarters with the rest of your companions. You were meant to remain in one place as long as your king had no use for you, and it was preferable to everyone if that place was ‘out of the way,’ but you couldn’t see the appeal. You’d never visited Asgard before, after all. You were curious. The urge to explore this new territory was too enticing to ignore.

So, while your sovereign was meeting with Odin and the rest of your group had their backs turned, you slipped out from your room and away from the guests’ quarters. Enough wandering throughout the halls and you’d found yourself in the palace’s main courtyard. Not, admittedly, where you’d wanted to go, but you decided that it might’ve been worth stumbling across in the end.

The _princes_ were present, sparring against one another in the center of the courtyard. Four others were off to the side, observing from the other end of the clearing and chatting quietly amongst themselves. The latter company you could’ve lived without, but Odin’s sons were enough to strike up your curiosity.

You didn’t announce yourself, lingering in the shadows and leaning back against one of the pillars lining the open hall at the courtyard’s edge. Silently, you watched. Quickly, you learned that they might not’ve been as interesting as you’d thought.

They didn’t put on much of a _show,_ you found. Not by your standards. It all felt rehearsed, the clash of metal, the glint of armor, the steps of each careful, well-practiced movement. It wasn’t real. They didn’t fight with the raw viciousness that you were used to witnessing among your own.

Had this been two Jotunns fighting, it would’ve taken all of five minutes for one to be lying on the floor, his throat torn out while the victor stood above, blue skin painted red and claws dripping with it. Jotnar battles were quick, and they were ruthless. Typically, they fought with all the ferocity they possessed, to survive and slaughter your opponent before they killed you.

The fight before you felt like a _game._ No earnest strikes. No true damage done. You were puzzled at how they might think this a means of _improving_ themselves.

But, of course, your species’ brutality wasn’t something the Aesir approved of. They were, they claimed, _civilized._ Unlike your people. A smile tugged at your lips at the thought.

You watched as one brother finally overcame the other. Surprisingly, not the larger, blond one. Instead, by the end of the match, he was the one on his back against the ground, staring up the shaft of the other’s spear as the sharpened tip hovered above his throat.

You wished he would’ve gone for the killing blow, but he didn’t.

_Dull._

“Alright, I’ve lost this round,” the blonde conceded, panting quietly. “You’ve won, Loki.”

Looking pleased, the other brother moved the spear aside and let his sparring partner up. “It was a good match,” he replied dismissively.

“Good on Loki, to have won at least one,” a member of their other audience called out. “We’d never hear the end of it if Thor managed an entire streak.”

Right, you thought. Thor was the blonde one’s name. Known for being _more_ than a little arrogant at times, if you recalled correctly. But he could back up most of his boasts if he truly wanted to. Or so you’d heard in rumors.

Part of you wanted to test those theories out. To see how strong Odin’s golden prince truly was. It was instinct. He presented a recognizable challenge. You wanted to try your luck.

You restrained yourself, though. Laufey would be furious if he’d found out you’d been running around fighting Asgard’s princes. He preferred to get these visits done with as soon as he possibly could. Causing trouble would only mean staying longer, and he wouldn’t hear of it.

“You have another audience.”

You brushed your thoughts aside at the voice, returning your attention to the princes and their companions. A dark-haired one had called you out. Slim and serious-looking. He was focused directly on you.

“So there is,” another stated, bigger, rounder, sporting a _ridiculously_ bushy beard.

Honestly, Asgardians and their beards. Jotnar, thankfully, never grew such things. They seemed like nuisances.

“Your skin is dark enough to hide you well over there, but your eyes stand out from the shadows like a demon’s,” he continued. “You’re not hard to spot, Jotunn.”

“Jotunn is my species. My name is [Y/N],” you replied coolly.

“One of Laufey’s guard.”

It was a woman that spoke that time, her eyes narrowed and her voice hard. Though none of them were looking you over in a particularly friendly manner. All the peace treaties in the universe couldn’t change the fact that the Aesir could never consider the Jotnar _friends,_ not really.

But who were you to complain? Asgardians made you curl your lip in disgust most of the time, too.

“Shouldn’t you be by his side?” she asked.

“He’s with the All-Father, and doesn’t have any need for me now. I’m free to do as I please,” you replied.

Not entirely true, but they didn’t know that.

“I chose to look around. No harm done,” you added, lifting your chin and folding your arms across your chest. “I hope I haven’t interrupted something.”

“Just a sparring session,” Thor said, cutting into the conversation with ease. “Do you want to join? I don’t imagine they left you with much to do in your rooms.”

The looks of his companions told you that they didn’t approve of his invitation. It made you want to accept all the more. You doubted it’d be as entertaining as Thor seemed to think it was, though.

You took your weight off of the pillar, uncrossing your arms and stepping down into the courtyard. “I would say ‘yes,’ but I don’t think it’d end well. I don’t fight like an Asgardian. I don’t play fair.”

“I think you’d do quite well against him, then,” Thor scoffed, nodding toward his brother. “He’s not always fair, either. He likes his tricks.”

“I’ve no interest in fighting anymore,” Loki said, tone clipped.

He didn’t even bother to look as you as he spoke, distaste for your kind made as obvious as possible. Whatever hatred he harbored toward the Jotnar, it was strong. He spoke as though you might’ve done something to personally offend him. Like exist.

You tilted your head to the side. When you breathed in, you could literally _smell_ the iciness coming from him. Like the coldness of his tone had managed to seep into the air, crisp and cool. But that wasn’t how things worked.

You made a mental note of that, curious.

“Brother, the All-Father did say it was our duty to make Laufey and his company feel welcome,” Thor said, voice soft. “You shouldn’t be so rude. She _is_ a guest.”

“I’m not being rude. I’m exhausted is all,” Loki said dismissively. “If you want to fight her, then have at it. I’ll be on the sidelines, watching.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “No, I won’t be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Thor insisted.

The looks from his companions said otherwise. You should’ve felt offended, but instead you felt the urge to prod and instigate. A difficult one to suppress, really. The hostility _begged_ you to antagonize them further.

“It’s fine,” you replied. “Suppose I _should_ return to the others, anyways. It’s been a pleasure, though.”

With that, you turned away and walked yourself away from the courtyard. Not, however, back to your quarters as you’d implied. Instead, you slipped into the hall and tucked yourself into an alcove housing a statue within the wall. Where you felt certain that the flickering flames of torches wouldn’t cast your shadow across the hall. Then you fell silent. Your heartrate slowed, and your breathing evened out.

Hunting was a day-to-day practice on Jotunheim, and something you, personally, loved to indulge in. This felt similar. Very much like those days on the ice plains, hiding yourself in a crevasse and listening for prey, waiting until something wandered by and then taking the beast by surprise.

This, time, though, your prey was very different.

You could hear Loki’s footsteps coming down the hall after a few moments. Soft and delicate, unlike the heavy, booted steps of his elder brother. He walked the way a feline would prowl, all grace and fluidity. Very unique, considering his species were _always_ so loud.

When he walked past your hiding space, you parted your lips and let yourself taste the air, and suddenly you could smell it again. A fresh, icy breeze on Jotunheim, carrying snow with it. He smelled like one of your own.

For someone who showed such strong dislike for _you,_ he was apparently close to _some_ Jotunn.

Hmph. You wouldn’t put it past one of your companions to try their hand at seducing one of the Aesir. You wouldn’t put it past yourself, even, but a _prince?_

 _Someone_ certainly had high aspirations.

You considered turning away then, confronting the rest of your group to find out which had decided to spend his or her time with Loki _without_ your king’s consent (you really doubted Laufey might encourage any attempts at companionship with one of the Aesir during this visit), but, instead, you went the opposite direction. After Loki.

“You smell odd, did you know that?” you called out.

The prince stiffened slightly, and it gave you pleasure to know that he hadn’t caught your presence earlier. And, at the same time, it made you want to laugh. _Asgardians._ Any Jotunn would’ve caught your scent within a heartbeat’s time.

“I thought you were returning to your rooms,” he huffed, turning to glance back at you. “I don’t have time to entertain you, so you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect it of you,” you said coolly, stepping toward him, _circling_ him. “But you’ve been entertaining _someone,_ haven’t you? You smell like a Jotunn. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

His eyes narrowed, and you could tell that you were walking on thin ice. He was getting irritated with you, but you couldn’t say you were really all that intimidated.

You smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “Your secret’s safe with me, if you want to confide. I’m curious, is all. You act so hostile towards me that it’s hard to wonder. Is it Hillevi?” you asked. “She’s not a bad choice. She’s considered very desirable for our kind.”

“Is she? Hard to tell what it is you consider ‘pretty’,” he said icily. “You’re all monsters.”

_Monsters._

It didn’t even surprise you to hear him call you such a thing. If anything, you’d expected it. You would’ve expected it of _any_ Asgardian, really. You weren’t oblivious. You knew they had stories about how horrific your kind. Just as, before bed, the older Jotnar of a tribe would whisper to the young ones about how _dreadful_ Asgardians were, recounting no end of horrors they’d witnessed in the war.

“Mm . . . We don’t have much of a concept of ‘pretty’. We’re not like Asgardians,” you continued, unfazed. “Hillevi is desirable because she is a good hunter, and a good fighter. Not many Jotnar _could_ beat her, and that’s appealing to many of us. We like strength in our women, just as your women like strength in men.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Loki replied dryly. “But not my type.”

“You like the dainty and delicate females of your species, then? They look frustratingly soft to me – I’d be scared of breaking them,” you mused, lifting your gaze up to the ceiling absently. “A gentle touch can be nice, but if that was all I was limited to, I think I would get bored very quickly.”

“Fascinating,” he scoffed. “Are you done yet?”

You smiled wryly. “Is my company so bad, or are you too good for me?”

“Are both an option?”

“Your brother was right to call you rude – you really are,” you purred, amused.

He made a move to step past you then, and you paused in your circling. You lifted a brow, and your hand shot out to grab at him. Your fingers circled around empty air, though, and you found that his had circled your wrist instead. Rather tightly, too.

Green eyes narrowed on you, dispassionate and annoyed. Like you were nothing more than an irritating gnat.

You didn’t know why it made you smile, but it did. A low growl rose in your throat, but it was more inquisitive than threatening.

“I told you, I’m busy. If you’ve got any sense in that primitive brain of yours, you’ll take a hint and leave me be,” he said sharply. “Do you understand?”

“There are two people I take orders from. My kind, and the leader of my tribe. You are neither.”

“Asgard reigns over the Nine Realms. Jotunheim is one of those nine,” he reminded you. “My commands supersede any of your leaders’.”

“Perhaps. But I have no more respect for you than you have for me,” you replied. “So I don’t feel very inclined to follow any order that comes from you. Especially not when you’re so _rude_ about it.”

“Like your kind cares for manners.”

“We care about respect. As long as you refuse to treat me with any, I’ll refuse to give you my own,” you said.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and you were struck by the sudden realization that he wasn’t very _warm._ Asgardians had a high body temperature, whereas yours was subzero. Any contact between the two of you should’ve been painful. His scorching hot, yours painfully cold.

But Loki had never recoiled from the chill, and you’d never felt any heat to flinch away from.

He was _cold._

Your red eyes slid down to where his hand held your wrist in an iron grip. His fingers were blue. Not in the sense that they were freezing, but _actually_ blue. A few shades paler than your own skin tone, and it was _spreading._ Along his palm, the back of his hand, past the wrist and eventually disappearing beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

Your smile faded, and you imagined the expression on your face was likely one of awe.

Loki’s eyes followed your gaze, and you heard the sharp intake of breath before he snatched his hand away. It’d already been done, though. You’d already seen. You already _knew._

Loki didn’t smell like a Jotunn because he’d been intimate with one. It was a _natural_ part of his scent. He was _one of your kind._ One of the Jotnar.

“A Jotunn,” you said aloud.

Slowly, your grin began to return. Sharp teeth glinted in the firelight, and your red eyes sparkled with interest as they caught Loki’s. His, in comparison, were wide and mortified.

“You’re not an Asgardian,” you practically whispered.

Very, very suddenly, your back was to the wall and the air had been knocked from your lungs. There was pressure on your throat. Heavy and unrelenting. When the spots finally cleared from your sight, you found that the source was Loki’s still-blue hand.

“You will not tell _anyone,_ ” he hissed out.

There was a threat in his tone. Clear as day.

_You will not tell anyone, or I will . . ._

You should’ve been afraid for your life, perhaps, but, again, all you saw was a challenge. You wanted to tell. Immediately. You wanted to see how he would react, what he would do. Would he have you silenced before you even could? Or go to his father with a lie, and have you executed for reasons that not even Laufey would be able to protest against?

You wouldn’t be surprised if he did. There was something in his eyes, fear or desperation, that told you that this was _not_ information he would see become common knowledge.

And suddenly your realized the depth of the loathing he treated you with. The _disdain_ he had for your kind – _his kind._ How long had he lived under that glamour? How long had he lived in a world where parents scared their children into obedience by saying a _Jotunn_ would climb out from under their bed and eat them for misbehavior?

Dislike of the Jotnar under those conditions would be natural. Hate bled through generation after generation when so little effort was made to abolish it. But being a Jotunn in disguise, growing up around those stories? Oh, you could only imagine the self-hate that would create. To spend your years raised by people saying, _You’re a monster, you’re a beast._

You felt pity for him, surprisingly enough. Though it was rapidly being overcome by your sudden desperation to breathe again.

“Not a word to even the rest of your group, understood?” Loki said sharply, pressing down harder on your throat.

You winced. He’s crush _something_ if he kept it up, and you had no interest in dying on Asgard.

You managed a slight nod, and he finally released you. You caught yourself on unsteady feet, breathing raggedly to fill your lungs again. Then you lifted your gaze to look at him, and your breath almost caught.

The way he looked at you _now?_ You weren’t a gnat anymore. You were a _threat_ to the secret he was keeping, and he was wary of you. You had _leverage,_ suddenly. You had knowledge that posed a _danger_ to him if it managed to slip from your lips.

Finally, you were worth his attention.

You smiled.

“Your secret is safe with me,” you rasped reassuringly.

You didn’t say it in the Asgardians’ language, though. You spoke in your mother tongue instead, the language harsh, but your tone kind. The same way you would’ve spoken to any other Jotunn, rather than an Asgardian that, if not for the All-Speak, wouldn’t have known your language at all.

He narrowed his eyes on you for it, then turned away and stalked down the hall.

You watched him vanish, then began walking the other way. You pressed a hand to your throat as you walked, matching your fingertips to the scattered points of pain where _his_ fingertips had been. They ached when you pressed down on them.

He’d actually choked you.

Pushed you against the wall and _choked_ you, nearly _crushed_ your windpipe for the sake of swearing you to secrecy.

It sent a thrill down your spine to recall it.

 

_Reader_

Laufey’s guard attended him the next morning, in the gardens, while he shared breakfast with the House of Odin. Had Laufey’s mate come along, she would’ve joined as well. Instead, she’d opted to remain on Jotunheim, ruling in his place.

You stood a few paces behind your king with his other three guards, hands clasped behind your backs, expressions cool and detached. Like you were all four trying to fade into the background. In Jotunheim’s icy landscapes, you genuinely would’ve. A Jotunn’s blue skin always made for good camouflage in a world of gray stone and frost-blues.

Laufey remained at Odin’s table, quiet and tame as he was served. The All-Father behaved similarly. The quiet, you noted, was not charged with hostile energy, though. There was no tension. Only peace, like the comfortable silence between two good friends.

They were good actors during these visits, you were learning. Norns only knew how many times you’d heard Laufey seethe over the war, wishing he’d done this better, or that, and that, if he had, Jotunheim would be reigning the Nine Realms rather than Asgard. If he’d ever thought he might have the chance, he would kill Odin. But he didn’t. Not here, not now, not in the presence of Odin’s wife, his sons, and in the midst of Asgard’s palace with only four guards of his own.

You were quick to become bored with yourself.

Your attention turned to Loki before long, sitting furthest from Laufey and picking at his meal with disinterest. He looked impatient to be gone, unlike the rest of his family. As much as he detested the Jotnar, you would’ve easily guessed that being in the presence of so many in a _peaceful_ setting must’ve had his skin crawling. You weren’t shocked when he dismissed himself from the meal shortly after, walking out of the gardens and not returning.

Frigga sighed softly when he left, but, that aside, the rest of Loki’s family didn’t seem to mind. Or, rather . . .

They understood?

It would make sense for his family to be aware of his heritage, you thought. There was no way he might’ve waltzed into Asgard and let himself in the royal family as an infant. Jotnar couldn’t utilize magic that young. It had to be learned as they grew, so his glamour could not have existed then.

So, you reasoned, his family must’ve known from the beginning. They’d adopted him as a child, with full knowledge of his heritage.

Perhaps not all Aesir were entirely against the Jotnar. But, still, where had they even gotten their hands on a Jotunn child? That wasn’t something you just _stumbled_ across, after all.

You wanted to ask.

So, you fully intended to.

When breakfast was finished, Laufey dismissed your group once again while he resumed his meeting with Odin. You took the time to slip away from the others while you could, though, abandoning them on their way back to your shared quarters and hunt down Loki’s scent. You tracked it from one hall to the palace’s library this time, and found him settled on a chair inside, a book laying open on his lap.

Of course. He _did_ seem like he would be the scholarly type once in a while.

“Are you always such a longer?” you asked. “You don’t have any company in here, do you? We’re not a solitary species, you know. We live in tribes, together.”

You saw his shoulders tense as you entered the library, and he snapped the book in his lap shut. “I am not one of your kind,” he said icily, not bothering to turn and look at you. “And I do _not_ appreciate your company right now. Leave.”

“We discussed the idea of you giving me orders yesterday,” you reminded him.

You walked further into the library, finding a seat next to him, only a few feet’s space between the two, and slumping down into it. It was ridiculously soft and cushiony. Asgardians were so _spoiled._

“What do you _want?”_ he hissed out, irritated with your persistence.

“I have questions,” you said.

 “I’m not in the mood to provide answers.”

“Seems you’re never in a decent mood,” you hummed. “Now, tell me a story. How did a Jotunn end up an Asgardian prince?”

He looked at you finally, narrowing his green eyes in frustration. “Are you _never_ going to leave me be?”

“Not until I’ve had my curiosity sated, no.”

Loki snarled then. _Really_ snarled. A throaty sound of raw aggression that was _not_ Asgardian. It had your red eyes widening in surprise. Though, quickly, the shock was replaced by amusement.

You draped yourself over the arm of your chair, folding at the waist and looking up at him in amusement. You growled lowly in response and flexed your claws in anticipation, a small part of you acknowledging this as the prelude to a fight. He wouldn’t fight you, though. You knew he wouldn’t.

Honestly, though?

You really, _really_ wanted him to.

“Getting more and more in touch with our roots, are we?” you asked, purring. “I’d happily play the part of your mentor if you have any other questions.”

“No,” he snapped.

“Are you sure? We’re really fascinating, I’ve always thought. Very, very different from Asgardians, and clearly you know nothing at _all_ about us.”

“It’s not worth my time to study,” he replied coldly.

“No?” you pouted. “You are one of us, though.”

“I am _not,_ ” he hissed, getting up from his chair. “And if you say it again, I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth myself.”

“Oh, I’m _terrified,_ ” you said, drawing yourself up and rising from your own chair.

He turned to scowl at you, clearly unamused. You didn’t care. You simply smiled and tilted your head to the side, the picture of innocence.

“Do you ever intend to leave me alone?” he snapped irritably.

“Perhaps,” you said. “I did ask for a story, didn’t I? Maybe if you told it . . . ”

“It was during the war,” he snapped. “Odin found me, brought me here.”

“You don’t ‘find’ an infant lying out near a battlefield in Jotunheim,” you scoffed. “We’re not the savages you seem to think we are. We know how to protect our young.”

“ _Abandoned_ ,” he hissed suddenly, glaring at you with enough intensity to make you flinch. “Not me. I was abandoned and left to _die_.”

You stared at him in surprise, blinking slowly.

Abandoned.

Another good reason to not be fond of the Jotunn. He’d been left out to die in the snow by his own. By his _parents,_ even.

You could see how it might be an uncomfortable subject for him now.

Still, the entire scenario sounded so . . . _wrong._ Jotunn didn’t _waste_ young like that. It didn’t even matter if a parent didn’t _want_ a child. It wasn’t theirs to give up – they had no right when children were raised by the tribe as a whole, trained and cared for by the collective.

Whoever Loki’s parents had been, they’d . . . _really_ wanted him to die.

You frowned, brows knitting together. “I’m sorry,” you managed finally. “That’s . . . not usually how we do things. You must’ve belonged to one of the outer tribes – they’ve always been more brutal than even the rest of us could handle.”

“I don’t care which tribe I belonged to,” Loki hissed. “I don’t care how you do _anything._ I’ve no interest in your kind at all.”

You narrowed your eyes in mild irritation. “You can _stop that,_ you know. It’s not like I can’t make sense of everything you do. You’re reflecting your own self-hatred onto the rest of us, I can see I,” you huffed. “Does it _really_ offend you so much? Your own existence?”

He glared at you, offering no response. A line was clearly being drawn here. One that you shouldn’t step over. One that could end in very, very bad things if you even tried.

You practically leapt over it.

Loki must not’ve expected you to pounce at all. When you rushed forward and tackled him down, there was a brief moment where his eyes were wide with shock and surprise. It didn’t last long, though. By the time you’d pinned him down to the floor, he was glaring at you once again.

“A Jotunn soldier assaulting an Asgardian prince,” he said icily. “If I went to Odin, he could order your execution.”

“He’s grown soft over the years,” you retorted. “At worst, I’d be sent home with a slap on the wrist.”

“It’s a chargeable offense, if I wanted to pursue it.”

“My people would applaud me for it, anyways.”

He narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Get off of me.”

“Or what?” you challenged.

“Are you _really_ that eager to find out? Seems all you want to do is push my limits until I snap.”

“You make for good entertainment,” you replied. “I don’t have anything better to do with myself, and you’re only getting more and more interesting by the second.”

Especially with the blue creeping along his skin. It was starting to peek out from the collar of his tunic, slowly spreading out over the expanse of his throat and across his jawline. Across the polished wooden floor beneath him, frost began to branch out. He didn’t know how to restrain the natural cold Jotnar radiated when he was outside of his Asgardian skin.

You smiled, expression softening. “There you are,” you half-whispered, satisfied.

Loki frowned in confusion, but you were sure he caught his reflection in your eyes. All tough blue skin and bright-red eyes, sprawled beneath you and looking utterly bewildered.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head to the side and brushing your claws through dark hair. “We _don’t_ put much value in appearances, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have an idea of what’s visually appealing and what isn’t. If you weren’t so small, you’d be considered very good-looking. If a bit slim.”

“You’re not my type,” he managed.

“Right. You and your soft Asgardian women,” you recalled teasingly.

He snarled, sharpened teeth bared in a warning, and made a move to shove you off of him. You grabbed his wrist before he could, pinning it to the floor overhead.

“Get off,” he said lowly.

“Make me,” you purred. “Fight me.”

“At this point, I would _gladly,_ ” he hissed.

“As a Jotunn, though,” you said. “Not just in your skin, but without your spear, too. Claws and teeth only. Unless you _can_ conjure ice.”

“I will not fight like one of you,” he snapped.

“Like _yourself,_ ” you amended harshly. “You’re one of us. You’re Jotnar – a _Jotunn._ It doesn’t matter how much you tell yourself otherwise, it’s not going to change. You won’t wake up one morning without your glamour to find that you’ve actually, truly become one of the Aesir. You’re always going to be one of us, so _quit being such a stubborn ass about it._ ”

It was his breaking point, and you knew it. He wanted to deny it so badly, pretend he wasn’t a Jotunn at all, that he was Aesir to the core. And he wanted to believe it so desperately that your insisting otherwise wasn’t doing him any favors.

You were right.

He knew you were.

But he wasn’t going to _admit_ to it.

Loki snarled again, and the sound made a shiver of anticipation ripple through your body. Claws flashed in the library’s lamplight, and you quickly rolled to the side to get away from them. He wore armor. Light and casual, but armor nonetheless. You were dressed in leathers that covered very little, and weren’t even _intended_ for protection. He had the upper-hand in that sense. You’d have to be cautious and evasive.

You lowered yourself into a crouch a few feet away, every muscle tensed and coiled to spring. Loki, meanwhile, was scrambling to his feet instead.

You nearly sighed.

Well, you couldn’t expect him to _actually_ fight like a Jotunn, you supposed. It wasn’t like he’d been raised learning it the way you had. You wondered if he’d ever even fought in his Jotunn skin at all. It didn’t seem too likely.

“You’d be easy to strip up, standing so stiff like that,” you mused. “If I went for your legs, you wouldn’t be hard to topple.”

“But you won’t. You wouldn’t tell me what you’re going to do beforehand, so you’ll do anything _but_ that,” he guessed. “And you wouldn’t go for such an obvious option, anyways.”

He wasn’t wrong.

You ended up going straight for his throat then, bounding forward and then leaping, claws outstretched and swiping at your mark. You didn’t get the chance to strike, though. Instead, you felt a burst of pain, like a flash of lightning behind your eyelids, and you back had hit a bookshelf hard enough to tear a cry from you. A few books fell down to the floor next to you from the impact, and you stood, dazed. You were suddenly all the way across the room, several paces behind where you’d started.

So he wasn’t as easy to catch as you’d thought. He’d been more alert than you expected. But he’d cheated. He’d summoned his spear to his hand and caught you with the shaft, batting you aside.

 _He’s not always fair, either,_ you recalled, Thor’s voice in your head. _He likes his tricks._

“I said ‘like a Jotunn’,” you complained, raking your fingers through your hair.

“And I didn’t agree to your terms,” he replied, narrowing his eyes.

They were already turning green again. He was bringing back his glamour, and you felt disappointed. But you were quickly understanding how to ruin that disguise. All you had to do was make contact. He’d show himself once he had touch to his roots.

“You’re no fun,” you chastised. “You Asgardians fight to play all the time, don’t you?”

“Sparring isn’t playing.”

“It’s not really fighting if there’s no risk or reward.”

“Would you prefer we ripped each other’s throats out and drank the blood that spilled?” he said dryly.

You smiled wryly. “We don’t drink blood. Do Asgardians truly think we do?” you asked, stepping forward and circling around him, maintaining your distance carefully.

“I’ve heard a few stories,” he said.

 You smiled, then lunged forward again. Though, rather than go head-on, you kept yourself low to the floor. Enough to sweep past an arcing strike of the spear and bring yourself up behind him. It would’ve been perfect to pin him then, to tackle him down and settle on his back to hold him there – until he spun on his heel, circled a hand around your throat, and pinned _you_ instead while you were too shocked to retreat.

You were going to have to start remembering that he was far faster than he seemed. Your back was to the floor almost immediately. Hard and cold beneath you. Your claws scratching against the surface lightly, and you looked up at Loki. His spear was down to your throat, his stance firm and his gaze nothing but contempt. The same way he’d put his brother down the other day.

“Close, but not quite,” you said.

“I’ve won, you can stop talking now,” he said irritably. “We _did_ have an agreement.”

“You didn’t hold up your end of the deal,” you reminded him. “I said, ‘like a Jotunn’. This isn’t how a Jotunn wins.”

“I don’t believe my father would be _too_ pleased if I killed you, but if you really want to insist . . . ” he trailed off.

You felt the cold brush of metal against your throat, and you lifted your chin to avoid its sharpness. Still, you couldn’t help the purr that built up in your chest. Loud and content.

“Are you _purring?”_ he asked in disbelief.

“If you’d been raised by our customs, you’d know why. I’ve told you before, we don’t like soft and delicate touches. There’s not much distinction between fighting and foreplay,” you said, lifting a hand to your throat and idly tracing the sharpened edge of the spear with your claws. “The only real difference is how it ends.”

“So you _do_ get off on pestering me.”

You smiled. “I might.”

He lifted a brow at that.

“Still, though, you’re not doing this _properly._ Like you should,” you said.

“And how _should_ it be done?”

You drew your leg up, hooking it around the spear’s shaft and twisting it from Loki’s grip. You kicked it across the library immediately after, and swept up from the floor to grab the lapel of his coat a moment later. You dragged him down then, and shifted your weight to rest on him and _keep_ him there. The end result was you, straddling his chest with a low growl, grinning widely to bare your teeth.

“I don’t see that much of a different,” he managed irritably, blue blossoming across his fair skin.

You smiled, dipping down to brush your lips against his throat. “The difference is we rarely fight without killing,” you said softly. “When we fight, it’s a little more brutal. Usually ends in death – but you know that already, don’t you?”

You parted your lips, opening your mouth and circling your teeth around the side of his throat. You felt the slight dip of his skin beneath each pointed tip. There was a moment where he ceased to breathe, entire body tensing up beneath you warily. He didn’t think you would kill him, you realized. But he also knew that he didn’t know you well enough to be _sure._

You growled, low and deep to see if it would spook him. There was a slight, nervous catch in his breath.

“I’d rip your throat out of we were really fighting,” you murmured, withdrawing just enough to close your mouth again.

“That’s _definitely_ an action worthy of an execution.”

You smiled faintly. “One reason why I’m not actually doing it.”

“And the rest of your reasoning?”

“Well, I don’t have much else to do around here. If I killed you, there would go my only means of entertainment. Still, I am going to do _something_ to you.”

“What – ”

You brought one hand up, circling his throat as a warning to hold still, and he fell silent. Your other hand rested over his jacket, tearing through the fabric of it _and_ the shirt underneath. He gave an indignant sound of protest, and you growled in response. Not so playful that time.

You dipped down again when you finally managed to reveal the base of his neck, where it curved perfectly, a smooth line joining the shoulder. Your lips brushed the skin lightly. You felt him stiffen and swallow against the palm of your hand, and then you sank your teeth in. Harshly, deeply – until tough Jotunn skin finally gave way, and the sharp taste of blood filled your mouth. Cool and coppery.

Loki bit back a cry, hissing in sharp protest. You only sank your teeth in deeper, growling lowly, determined to leave your mark on him. Typically, a corpse might show your victory. With that option taken away, this was the second best thing you could think of.

You didn’t want to let go, though. Not too soon. You wanted to bite down harder, leave him with a _long-_ lasting mark, be able to taste his blood on your tongue for days to come.

He groaned in pain, arching up, and that urge only grew stronger. And stronger still, when he lifted his hands to retaliate. He didn’t shove you off, though. Instead, you felt hands cupping the bared expanse of your ribs, and then _claws_ pressing down, dragging over the lines of your ribs to leave a ladder of cuts.

You snarled and bit down further, until you heard a cry, finally. Low and hoarse, and more frustrated than pained. Claws dug in further, and pain sparked down your spine. Delight followed soon after, and you groaned against his flesh, spine curving, back arching _into_ his touch.

It _hurt,_ but only in the way that Jotnar could register as _good._

You had to force yourself to unclamp your jaw and let go of him, carefully extracting your teeth from his torn flesh and panting softly. His grip loosened on your sides, slowly. Like he had to pry his claws from you the same way you’d pried your fangs from him. Not because he’d wanted to keep going, though. He’d been coping with the pain. You’d been _savoring_ it – yours _and_ his.

You swiped your tongue over your teeth, tasting the blood still on them. It made a shudder ripple through you. And so did the sight of the injury you’d inflicted – he might as well have been mauled by a wild animal.

A purr began building up in your chest.

It’d leave a mark for _weeks._

It’d probably even scar, and that idea satisfied something deeply primal within you.

And then suddenly you were no longer looking down on Loki, but, rather, he was looking down on you. The floor was irritatingly hard against your back, but you scarcely noticed. Loki caught your attention more easily, the way he was panting with pain, growling with anger.

You only started purring louder.

“How _dare_ you?” he demanded.

“Don’t like markings?” you cooed.

“What makes you think you have a _right_ to mark me?” he snapped out.

“A little too late to ask whether or not I’m allowed to,” you hummed. “It’s already been done, and it _does_ look nice on you. It’ll last for a while.”

He growled again.

“You didn’t stop me,” you reminded him.

“I could scarcely even think at the moment,” he snapped.

“Because it hurt?” you smiled wryly. “Or are you getting a little more in touch with your Jotunn side? Did you _like_ it?”

“You wish,” he retorted, red eyes flashing.

“Maybe.”

He growled again, and you continued purring.

A part of you was dangerously tempted to move forward. The biting had done things for you. The scratching, too. You wanted to prod at his aggression, urge him on and draw him across that fine line between fighting and foreplay.

You resisted, barely.

“You’re a pest,” he said finally.

“You’ve told me.”

“And you _enjoy_ being a pest.”

“You like causing trouble, too, from what I’ve heard.”

He snarled briefly, then you saw him center himself. Must’ve realized he truly _was_ acting like a Jotunn, finally. You tried to hide your disappointment. You’d been having _fun._ Real, genuine fun.

After a deep breath, he slid off of you. “I have things to do,” he muttered, quick to call back his Asgardian glamour.

“See you later, then, my prince,” you called out, rolling over onto your belly to watch him go.

He hadn’t hurt you in retaliation – not as he might’ve. He wouldn’t run off to tell his father. He wouldn’t report you to Laufey, either. He wasn’t _encouraging_ your behavior, you noted. But he wasn’t putting his heart into protesting against it, either.

You started purring again.

He _had_ liked it, you realized.

 

_Reader_

“You were playing with your Asgardian today again, weren’t you?” Hillevi asked, taking a moment to sniff the air as you entered your group’s quarters. “You smell like him.”

You scoffed. Interesting that she hadn’t yet made the connection. She’d been in the same room as Loki before – she should’ve taken note of his scent then. If she had, she’d know exactly which Asgardian you’d been spending time with. Especially when Loki’s scent was so unique, everything expected of an Asgardian, but with those subtle Jotnar undertones.

“I was,” you agreed.

You crossed the room, laying out on your belly on your bed. She watched you with a sigh. The other two had a mind to pay attention to their own business, quietly remaining across the room and discussing among themselves. Hillevi was the only one that dared to be nosy.

“King Laufey wouldn’t be pleased.”

“He wouldn’t,” you agreed again. “We’ll be leaving in only a couple of days, though, and then what will it matter?”

She huffed, then turned away to look outside the window dismissively. She’d seemed more than a little fascinated with Asgard’s scenery from the moment she’d stepped foot from the Bifrost. She hadn’t left the window much since reaching the room, either, and her gaze _always_ wandered outside. Likely marveling over all of the _life._ So far, though, it hadn’t given her reason enough to leave and wander the palace. You’d been the only Jotunn bold enough.

“Geir,” you called out.

Red eyes turned toward you, and the single male of your group lifted a brow. “Yes?”

During the war with the Asgardians,” you began slowly. “Were there any children lost?”

“Plenty. Be more specific.”

“Infants,” you said. “Abandoned, not killed by Aesir.”

“We don’t abandon infants,” he scoffed.

“Actually . . . ”

You gaze turned toward Asta as she spoke. “Hm?”

“There was a rumor about our king,” she began. “No one’s _sure_ of it, since it was during the war. Everyone had other things to think of, really, but . . . Laufey’s mate was pregnant at that time. A lot of people say she lost it from the fighting – she was so insistent on participating even when she was so far along, so no one would be surprised if one wrong blow ruined her pregnancy, but . . . ”

She shrugged.

“Some say they saw our king carrying something away from the palace one night. He went alone, to one of the temples. Supposedly, some heard an infant’s crying as he walked, but no one’s sure. When he came back, his arms were empty.”

“Supposedly it was a runt,” Geir chimed in. “If he did kill it, it would’ve been putting it out of its misery.”

You wrinkled your nose in silent disagreement. A runt could be raised like any other Jotunn. True, their life wouldn’t be _easy,_ but it wouldn’t have been too terrible, either. Most of the hardship would lie in mockery, teasing directed toward itself and its paternal family. If Laufey _had_ abandoned the child, it wasn’t to put it out of its misery. It was to save himself the embarrassment.

You served your king, yes, but that didn’t mean you were delusional. Laufey wasn’t the _noblest_ of kings. This wasn’t behavior that you would put past him.

“If he didn’t kill it?” you asked suddenly.

“Would’ve frozen to death eventually,” Asta said. “Infants don’t do well in the cold.”

Common sense, of course. Young Jotnar weren’t as well-suited to Jotunheim’s below-freezing temperatures. Their skin thickened against it through infancy. Newborns were still used to the warmth of a womb, being protected thoroughly from Jotunheim’s harsher elements.

But if the child had been found before freezing to death . . .

You frowned, brows creasing together. You’d never thought Laufey _had_ any children, but the pieces fit together unnervingly well.

Huh.

Laufey’s heir.

You wondered if Loki even knew.

 

_Reader_

You hunted Loki down the next day with ease, finding him in the gardens poring over what _looked_ like a spellbook to you. You weren’t entirely certain.

“I almost thought I’d have a peaceful afternoon today,” he muttered when he caught sight of you padding down the garden path toward him, though his tone was more resigned than displeased.

Not fond.

But not hateful, either.

“No such luck,” you said cheerfully. “But I am feeling a bit more tame today, if it puts you at ease.”

“Shockingly, it does.”

You smiled wryly. He was settled on a bench before one of the flowerbeds. Rather than sit next to him, you got down and laid against the ground. The stones of the pathway were warm against your belly, and you hummed in quiet contentment. He glanced down at you briefly, then turned his attention back to his book.

“The bite mark,” you said conversationally. “How is it?”

“It still hurts. Your cuts?”

“Can’t even feel them anymore. You should’ve tried to get something more worthwhile in.”

“I’ll that in mind for next time,” he said dryly.

He fell silent after that, and you did as well. There was something soothing about Asgard’s gardens, and basking out in the sun wasn’t so bad, either. The warmth had, at first, been uncomfortable and unsettling, but you were adjusting nicely. You even found yourself dozing for a bit, purring softly and contentedly, relaxing to the sound of chirping birds and turning pages.

It was the sound of a book closing that stirred you from your napping, and Loki’s voice that followed.

“What do your markings mean?” he asked.

“What do _your_ markings mean?” you corrected drowsily. “You want to know about your own, you’re just being evasive.”

He huffed.

“If you must know, though, they don’t mean much,” you said. “Every Jotunn’s varies. Some have a unique one common for their tribe or family, like a birthmark. But, for the most part, they’re random.”

“And do _you_ have a special marking?”

“Along my collar,” you murmured. “It’s not unique to my tribe so much as it is to my family, specifically. My mother has it. So does her father, and his father, too.”

“I didn’t know Jotnar cared so much for family.”

“We don’t. You’ll know who your parents are, yes, but the tribe as a whole handles raising you. You’re never dependents on your parents singularly. Just the tribe, until eventually you’re grown. Then the children that follow are dependent on you, too,” you murmured. “Unless you were Laufey’s. Then you would be under special care, groomed for rulership and separate from the rest.”

He scoffed dismissively, and you realized he _didn’t_ know.

You decided against telling him.

“Why do Asgardians wear so much _clothing?”_ you asked.

Loki frowned down at you. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, Asgard is so warm that it seems ridiculous. It’s a miracle you, especially, don’t suffer from a heatstroke every time you walk outside.”

“Well _I_ marvel at how little you all wear. You’d think you would want better protection in the cold.”

“Our skin _is_ our protection. The cold doesn’t have an effect on us.”

“Then why bother running around in scraps at all?”

You smiled wryly, a purr rising in your throat. “Well, if you would _prefer_ I walk around naked . . . ”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied hastily.

“We do have _some_ sense of modesty,” you told him. “Though, really, we _might_ run around naked if not for that. We’re not as shy as Asgardians.”

Loki snorted again, then fell silent. You did, too, resting your head back against your forearms and closing your eyes. You could feel his eyes on you, though. Tracing the bared expanse of your back. The markings that decorated your blue skin.

“If you want to touch them,” you murmured absently. “You can.”

A few moments went by where nothing happened. You breathing slowed as you began to doze again, and, after a few heartbeats, you felt something brush against your back. A faint touch, at first, to test whether or not you’d react unpleasantly. The he got a little bolder, tracing the markings on your back with a touch that remained consistent.

“I can actually _feel_ you purring,” he muttered.

“You’ve pet a cat while they purred before, haven’t you? It’s not much different,” you hummed drowsily.

“You’re certainly enjoying the sun as much as one would,” he muttered. “And here you complain so much about heat.”

“It’s not bad, once you get used to it. Still, it doesn’t always have the nicest effects,” you murmured.

Slowly, soft fingertips became claws. Loki’s Asgardian glamour fading away once again. He didn’t scratch you, though. Not in any way that didn’t feel relaxing, at least, and you arched into the touch with a soft sight and louder purring.

“What do you mean by effects?” he asked.

“The shrinking. It’s so _odd._ ”

His hand withdrew, and you glanced back at him quizzically.

“What do you mean by ‘shrinking’?” he asked.

You blinked. “Haven’t you ever been to Jotunheim?”

“Not since I was an infant, no.”

You scoffed, a smile making its way over your lips. You reached forward, tracing your fingertips over the stone path, watching frost form beneath your touch until the sun melted it away. “This isn’t my actual size. Nor is that _yours._ Even you, in your natural state, _tiny_ as you are, should be a couple feet taller than _any_ Asgardian,” you explained. “But we’re on Asgard, where it’s warmer. And in warmer climates, we shrink, put simply. Otherwise, even with your glamour you never would’ve passed for an Asgardian. You’d be too large.”

“I’m not _that_ much smaller, am I?” he mused.

You shrugged. “For our species? Yes.”

“Well _that’s_ irritating. I barely fit in as an Asgardian, and I’d never fit in as a Jotunn,” he snorted. “Seems I’m destined to be the odd one forever.”

“You _do_ act a little more reserved than most Asgardians do,” you agreed. “Though you have their temper. Their pride. The formality and all. All the worst traits, really.”

That earned you a stroke of claws down your back, but it wasn’t sharp enough to really hurt. You didn’t think he’d been trying to hurt you, either.

You smiled, resting your chin back against your forearms. “Is it my turn to ask a question?”

“If you want to.”

He’d started touching your markings again. Not even studying them, really. Just . . . tracing them. Idly. Like it was as relaxing for him as it was for you.

“How do Asgardians stand so many relationships?” you yawned. “They marry one, but then they would turn around and marry another after the first is gone. How do you stand it?”

“That’s an odd question,” he muttered. “Jotnar don’t divorce or marry, do they?”

“We mate,” you hummed. “For life.”

“Asgardians aren’t so simple,” he mused. “We – ”

“They,” you corrected.

“ – don’t have an easy time just _selecting_ someone,” he continued, ignoring your comment. “Some people are pickier. Sometimes two people think they love each other, but learn otherwise after a few years. Honestly, I’d find it difficult to stay with one person forever, too. I’m not sure how _Jotnar_ stand it.”

“It’s not hard once you find the right one.”

“You have one, then? A mate?”

“Mm . . . No,” you murmured. “Maybe one day. Haven’t met someone worth loving for centuries yet, though.”

Your purr morphed into something like a growl when claws brushed against the back of your neck. Nothing displeased, though. It felt nice.

“Enjoying yourself?” he commented.

“Even a Jotunn can appreciate a moment of peace once in a while.”

“But roughness . . . ”

“Has more appeal. It’s instinctive. Get too lost in a moment it’s natural behavior, no matter how much you might want to keep it at bay.”

You were unprepared for the sudden rake of claws down the middle of your spine. Sharp and slow, and they snapped you out of your doze immediately. Pain flared throughout your body, raw and real and _strong._ You hissed, drawing yourself up onto your elbows and snarling at Loki.

“I thought you _liked_ it,” he said innocently.

Troublemaker.

“You’re inviting a fight.”

“I was pursuing my curiosity.”

“I thought you wanted me to be tame today.”

Again, he fell onto that feigned innocence, and didn’t reply as you started to rise from the ground.

“Unless you _don’t_ want me to be tame today,” you concluded. “And you weren’t as upset about yesterday as you pretended.”

Still no response.

“You _liked_ it,” you realized, flashing your sharp teeth in a wide grin.

“I never said that,” he replied evasively.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?” you purred. “You’re more in touch with your Jotunn instincts than you thought you were, aren’t you? You actually thought it was _fun._ ”

He didn’t respond.

You growled lowly, and lunged forward to pounce on him. You made no contact with anything but the ground, though, bypassing the bench and stumbling into the flowerbed with a hiss. This was going to stop eventually. You’d see to it.

You turned to glare over your shoulder where Loki stood. He looked, if anything, faintly amused.

“Trickster,” you accused.

“Your games are probably something better off played behind closed doors,” he said as his glamour returned. “And I’m not really fond of the idea of anyone stumbling across us and seeing me like this, anyways.”

“‘Behind closed doors’,” you quoted. “Sounds like an invitation. A familiar kind, actually. You didn’t enjoy it for the fighting alone, did you?”

Your tone dropped lower, your smile becoming more suggestive.

“Don’t tell me Prince Loki might actually like a _Jotunn,_ ” you purred.

“You’re speaking for me,” he replied, not as harshly as he normally would’ve.

“But you do,” you continued. “It’s not a terrible thing to admit, you know. Even Jotnar are familiar with lust, and I’m not going to grow so easily attached afterwards.”

Not that you even _could._ Tomorrow would be Laufey’s last day on Asgard, and then you and your people would be returning to Jotunheim for _several_ more years. Attachment would’ve been stupid. And you knew better, anyways.

“Couldn’t hurt to try once. Forget your soft little Asgardian women and try it with someone who won’t cry if you bite too hard or fuck too rough,” you purred.

“I’m not _that_ easy to bait,” Loki protested idly.

“Aren’t you curious?”

You drew yourself up from the flowerbed, brushing yourself off and sitting on the bench he’d preciously occupied.

“Come here,” you said, gesturing to him. “Bite me.”

“That sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not. I want you to try it. Actually bite me.”

“I’m not going to bite you. We’re in the gardens, anyways – a very public place. Anyone could see.”

“Then _I’ll_ bite _you._ ”

“Doesn’t your kind ever try _kissing?”_

“Our kind,” you corrected once again. “And of course we do, but it’s not as fun.”

“And why not?” he asked. “It can be nice, having your body worshipped by someone else’s mouth.”

You crossed your legs. “It’s nice and intimate, I’m sure. And it’s not like it’s something we _wouldn’t_ do, but kisses only go so far,” you said. “What about raking your claws down someone’s side? Leaving bite mark after bite mark on their skin so that they’re carrying the evidence for _weeks._ And we cover so little skin, too. Everyone can see the proof. Everyone _knows_ that that is yours, and that they are claimed.”

“It sounds violent.”

“Very,” you agreed. “But it’s nice. On both ends, too. There’s something reassuring about seeing your reflection in the ice. All of the marks and bruises and bites, knowing someone desired you _that_ much, knowing that they want _everyone else_ to know, too? Really does things for you when you’re a little on the self-conscious side.”

You looked him over _very_ pointedly.

“I doubt having you near-cannibalize me would make me feel any more comfortable as a Jotunn,” he said dryly. “I’ll never lose my distaste for your kind. Trust me.”

“Your distaste for all but me, apparently,” you purred.

The corner of his lip tugged up into a smile.

“Come to my quarters later tonight,” he said eventually. “And _then_ you can show me.”

* * *

 

 **A/N:** I’ll admit that a vast majority of my reasoning behind writing this was being thrown a bunch of Jotunn headcanons one day and loving them _so_ much. Some of it was Marvel-based, some of it mythology-based, some adopted from Tumblr, but most of it was my friend Ellie saying, “What if . . . ” and coming up with Jotnar headcanons all day.

Also - I'm very, very sorry that I didn't post the full thing. I was just so eager to get some genuine work uploaded, but . . . I didn't meet my deadline, sadly. I was distracted working on another longer 'fic - a Mistress/Slave one for Thor, because . . . I adore BDSM dynamics like that. :3 And another Thor one. And a Thor/Reader/Loki one. (I love Thor a lot, it's all I can say.)

I'll get the full thing out next week with any luck, alright? It'll be smutty, though - but I'd imagine not many of you are gonna have an issue like that, right? :D 

 

 **Disclaimer:** I have no ownership of anything Marvel-related here, nor do I own you! The plot, however, is mine – and that's just about it.

**Comments and kudos are my weakness, and I'd be grateful for the feedback!**

**Want to toss me a prompt? Feel free to do so in a comment, or via Twitter (@CertifiablySmol) through a DM. (I recommend reading the Introduction beforehand for notes on what I will or won't write – thanks!)**


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